


Of sass and archaic ceremonies

by Mel_Sanfo



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_Sanfo/pseuds/Mel_Sanfo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity finds herself in Nanda Parbat as Al Sah-him's choice... for a bride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of sass and archaic ceremonies

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 3x20 (before the whole Oliver is marrying Nyssa thing).
> 
> My first ever work to be posted on AO3. Excuse the typos as English is not my first language.
> 
> This idea came to me during a conversation on Twitter with Matty (SuperSillyAndDorky06).
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! And feel free to leave me a message on Twitter! @Melmo2010

There were many words to describe Felicity Smoak. Genius, loyal, feisty; hell, even blonde worked! She also liked to think of herself as practical, her love for heels being an exception to the rule mostly during her nighttime work. But never in all her years, young as she might be, would she consider herself compliant. Oh no. She was a poster child for the independent and stubborn woman of today, with her own ideas and a spine made of steel to see things through. So for Felicity Smoak to find herself in a position where it was not only in her best interest but expected of her to obey and submit? Well, it was a bit like her own personal hell. Needless to say she didn’t like it. Not. One. Bit. 

Spoils of war! That was what she was supposed to be, what she had been reduced to in this forsaken place. Like a fine painting, a jewel or another sort of treasure, she had been taken from her home, Starling, by an invader on a mission of war and brought here. But far be it from her not to see opportunity even in the bleakest of moments. Her mom had not been a cocktail waitress in 6 inch stiletto heels and tight dresses for years on end so that she would just accept things. Sure, this wasn’t according to plan, not in the least, but if there was something that she had learned by working for a vigilante it was how to improvise when the opportunity arose. That’s why, not that many weeks before, on her first trip to Nanda Parbat she had successfully drugged the man she loved in an attempt (desperate yes) to free him from his fate. It had been a foiled attempt but an attempt all the same.

Now she was once more in the hidden city. Having been brought by the same man she had tried to save only he was different now. He was cold and though he seemed to remember his friends and family there was no feeling to him. He went by another name and title, yes, but one thing that had apparently not changed was the pull he felt towards her. And she was going to exploit that for their benefit. All she had to do was bade her time and take one for the team, figuratively speaking…

Or so it seemed until that morning when the shadow of the man she loved had brought her news regarding her status. The term had become quite literal then.  
She had gone from a simple possession to a person of interest. During his short visit he had explained, well not really explained but more like told her in order to goad a reaction out of her, that he, Al Sah-him heir to the demon, had refused ALL the prospects that Ra's Al Ghul had selected for him as potential brides.

“Insipid.” He had said “Bland. Empty.”

Apparently not a single one of the multiple women had seemed worthy enough to be the wife (mate?) of the demon’s heir, future Ra’s, to him. No. He wanted fire and strength, he wanted a spark that would burn bright. He wanted HER. She had to wonder if the fact that she had wielded a tablet as a weapon against him during the short fight that had happened back in Starling City, swinging it at his head when she had had a shot and connecting, had garnered her his attentions. 

How caveman, and fitting, of this new him…

When Ra’s Al Ghul had not disagreed to Al Sah-him’s idea she knew that he was looking at this from a strategic point of view (the conniving bastard). After all, if what his heir desired was in Nanda Parbat there would be no reason for him to stray far from home. So Ra’s had begrudgingly, she was sure, agreed to the union (marriage? She still wasn’t sure what the hell to call it) and the preparations had started as soon as the heir had gotten his Lord’s approval, earlier that same day. Keeping the heir to the demon close to home seemed to be of great priority to the demon’s head.

This is how she found herself being prepared for a ceremony that made her extremely uncomfortable. She was to marry (?) Al Sah-him, a persona that had been forced upon and added to the repertoire of the man she loved more than anything. It was a heavy situation that she had no real time to acclimate to. It was his duty, it seemed, as heir to marry well, produce children and take over once Ra’s Al Ghul had (finally) departed this world. For her, apparently, the duty was to be the doting wife and broodmare that would grant him said children…

And all in all it should have been easy! After all she was getting married to Oliver, whatever name he was going by now (in her head she REFUSED to call him anything else) and she did love him; all faces of the coin (or gem, since there were so many facets and sides to him), but once the intricate henna pattern had dried all over her body (Seriously, ALL OVER, limbs, torso and a delicate outline on her face) and while her attendants prepared her for the ceremony dressing her up in layers upon layers and yards upon yards of dark red and black fabrics that she had a disturbingly strong flash of apprehension. More like the hysteria within was trying to claw its way out for a moment! Because it was Ra’s wish that Oliver take a wife, not Oliver's…Al Sah-him’s (whoever's) choice. No. This was all part of the puppet master’s plan. She wondered while a veil of dark gauze like fabric was lowered over her features and hair, covering her loose blonde strands as well as her upper body all the way down to her waist, if when (No if here, but WHEN) Oliver came back to his senses he’d regret this. Mister I.Live.For.The.Guilt.And.Love.Brooding.Like.It's.Bacon. probably would. 

Then she realized, just as quickly, that if reviving someone with a magical hot tub did not constitute a medical breakthrough of some sort then a mystical joining ceremony in the headquarters of a hidden society of pure evil and destruction would not be truly binding, stand in court or anywhere else remotely lawful. Just here. And here was the only place she technically needed to be his, for her own protection, while she managed to put her plan to get them out unscathed to work. Out in the real world? They could both freak out on their own time. Out there she just wanted HIM, ceremony or not, rings NOT required. But they’d get to that eventually. This (right now) would be like a play, she decided stiffening her spine for what was to come and as such she was willing to play her part to get the chance to get Oliver back. 

When the women that had prepared her deemed her ready she was escorted through many of the corridors to the main hall, where the braziers burned high and at least fifty members of the league waited at the back of the room, not counting the head of the demon himself, who was positioned close to the magical hot tub of reviving the mostly dead and his heir. Her bare feet made no sound on the stone during the procession but the layers, thin enough to not be heavy on her body but solid enough to not reveal the nakedness of her body underneath, rustled as she walked, being led to the center of the room where Oliver knelt, bare from the waist up, not looking at her but directly into the eyes of Ra’s.

The priestess who had overseen Thea’s resurrection was there by the head of the league, in all her dark and skimpy regalia of a wardrobe; the woman had appointed one of the attendants specifically to explain to Felicity how the ceremony would proceed; the girl had done so in heavily accented English and with much patience, which Felicity appreciated, so that she would know what to do when it was expected of her and not to freak out, more accurately how to react (stoically, apparently was the only answer) to certain parts of it. Because this was far from a garden wedding at a posh estate with a great garden or even a quickie drive through affair on her native Vegas. Oh no. This was a league wedding, the wedding of the demon’s heir none the less, blood and a bit of darkness was a free part of the package deal.

It was time to get this show on the road.

When the attendants left her side, leaving her bereft before so many focused gazes, she knew exactly what she needed to do (thank goodness). With steady steps she walked around Al Sah-him in a slow circle, once…twice… the motion symbolizing the wandering, time and experiences in life that one must go through before fate intervenes with the appearance of one’s choice for a mate. The hand with calloused fingers that wrapped themselves about her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from making another circuit around the kneeling man should have surprised her but it had the opposite effect, it calmed her and it made the situation bearable. It represented his choice. He could have very well had let her circle him a few more times and then rejected her, just to shame her and have her killed on the spot, but no. Stopping her meant that she was who he wanted for his bride. 

There was no hesitating now.

As she had been instructed she kept her eyes forward, away from him even though she could have seen him perfectly through the veil, and she waited until he stood by her side, still holding onto her wrist with a secure yet gentle grip. Once he was standing by her side they turned together to face the priestess and Ra’s Al Ghul, having them both as witnesses to the entwining of their fingers as a sign of unity.

The words in Arabic (was it Arabic? She wasn’t sure and no one deemed it fitting to translate for her) meant nothing to Felicity as the priestess chanted her little tune. A group of three appointed members of the league approached them from the side then stopping only a few feet away to their right. Goon number one was carrying a small bronze bowl. Goon number two held a knife and Goon three, who Felicity recognized as Maseo due to his eyes and body frame, held a long red sash. The third man came all the way up to them and taking their joined hands maneuvered their arms to be held before them, aloft, before binding them together with the sash he had carried; Oliver’s hand cupping her much smaller one from below, supporting her arm up in the air straight out, touching from elbow to fingertips, with what seemed little effort. 

Once they were bound Maseo retreated to stand in line with the other goons.

One by one the remaining members of the league that were present, aside from the three little goons, formed a line and approached the first two men, each member taking off the leather glove of their weapon wielding hand. The procession was beautiful yet scary at the same time. Each man and woman would let the man with the knife prick their forefinger, they would then dip the tip of the third finger of the same hand on the bowl and move to the joining couple, anointing the sash that bound them together with a single drop of their blood and what Felicity had been told was oil. It was a show of acceptance, respect and their allegiance to the heir and his bride. Once the line was done the three goons shifted their appointed items (bowl guy and knife guy anyways) to do the same as all the others had with Maseo being the last one to anoint the sash.

“The choice has been made.” Ra’s Al Ghul voiced “And respect has been shown. Let the ceremony truly begin.”

As if they had been waiting on the sidelines for this specific moment, which they probably had been, the group of women that had attended to her earlier brought in a plush red cushion the size of a big doggy bed and laid it on the floor a few feet in front of them, but still far enough from Ra’s and the priestess’ position to give Felicity room to breathe without feeling like they were within pouncing distance.

“He will lead.” The priestess said in perfectly flawless English, making Felicity want to roll her eyes because WHY had she not done the whole thing in English if she could? “She will follow.”

Follow. Deep breath. Obey (for now). Bigger picture is more important than rebelling now…

When Al Sah-him took a step forward, leading her, she paused for a mere second then followed all the same. It wasn’t a moment of rebellion, or at least she hoped that the pause would be attributed by everyone as nerves, in truth Felicity had been paralyzed for a moment, truly lost within herself wondering if she could really pull this off. He did as he was instructed, leading her with steady steps to the cushion where he lowered himself to be kneeling once more, facing the head of the demon and priestess with the league members at their back. She followed his example herself kneeling by his side (as she had been told it was expected of her by her English speaking attendant) sitting back on her heels trying for a bit more comfort, their joined hands/arms resting between them; The fabric of her attire pooling like a sea of black and red around her almost blending her form to the cushion.

“He will provide.” The priestess said continuing the ceremony.

Some of the women returned carrying platters of different foods. They lowered the platters in front of the cushion for her future husband’s inspection and laid themselves on the floor face down while he took his pick. The act of submission rattled Felicity deep to her feminist core but she knew it wasn’t her time to act repulsed by it, if she as much as took a breath the wrong way Ra’s would probably blink and have her killed, even if she WAS the choice his heir had taken for a bride. 

He gave her hand a small squeeze before turning at the waist to face her, she mirrored him with an ease that stemmed on a friendship (and years of trust) formed far away from this place. With his free hand he lifted her veil, removing it all together and setting it at the very edge of the cushion before turning his attention to the platters in front of them. She had been told not to look at the food at this particular moment while her husband to be made his choice, as it was meant to show her trust in him to provide, but from the corner of her eye she did see that many of the choices in the different platters were nuts and THAT was a big problem. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest when she realized what this was. A sneaky attempt to remove her from Oliver’s life before the ceremony could be finished. She technically wasn’t his yet, she wasn’t truly under his protection. 

Having an allergic reaction in the middle of nowhere and no epipen to aid her? She was as good as dead if he chose wrong. 

She watched his profile as his eyes searched the platters, her heart hammering in her chest. She didn’t know if she had ever told him she was allergic! Had she done that? Even if it was during one of her epic babbles? Would he remember it now, when he had been changed into someone else?

When his hand began to lower towards one of the platters, straight for a handful of what she believed were almonds her eyes flickered towards Ra's for a second (was that a fleeting smirk she saw?) before she squeezed Oliver’s hand once; a silent plea for him to reconsider the choice. Watching his profile once more, as she had been before her eyes strayed to the psycho in charge, she saw the instant his hand stopped with the corner of her eye and even when he turned his attention to her, with just his eye moving in her direction. There was a beat that passed between them and she would never know if he grasped the level of desperation on her at that moment, truly grasped it; but all the same she was glad that he didn’t see it as her trying to defy him. As if it was the most natural thing in the world and he had reconsidered, without her intervention, his hand moved to the top of the platter and picked up a cluster of deep purple grapes. She noticed, with great appreciation, that it had been an item as far away from any sort of nuts as possible and the vice grip around her heart eased.

Placing the grapes in their joined hands, facing her once more, he plucked a single orb and presented it to her, holding it between his forefinger and thumb before lowering it to her lips. 

“She will accept.” The priestess said.

She couldn’t help herself, looking deeply into his eyes, they were the same shade of blue as before but so much colder, as she had never seen them before, yet she parted her lips and allowed him to feed her. The skin of his fingers was as warm as she remembered, the contact was minute but intimate all the same, with his fingers brushing her lips ever so slightly as he fed her. The exercise was repeated a few times, him feeding her the little fruits tenderly, his gaze never wavering from hers.There was no recognition there but there was interest. She'd take it.

“And she will also give.”

So she did. It was her turn to pluck one of the fruits from the bunch, not being able to choose another food for him for the fruit they held symbolized the wealth they’d share together. Looking down at the cluster she noticed she had eaten half of it and she couldn’t help but smile a little. She’d eaten half and he would now eat the other half. It was still 50/50. Partners, even in this unlikely situation. Selecting the first fruit she looked at him through her lashes then lifted her hand to show him her selection, she received a barely there nod of approval from him and she fed him. If her fingers lingered on his lips a millisecond too long for a fleeting caress afterwards no one seemed to notice or at least no one tried to decapitate her for breaking the rules and messing up their pompous ceremony. 

This time it was her who held his gaze. It was her who didn’t have to look at where the fruit were to pluck one after the other and feed him. It was her blue eyes that held acceptance and yes she showed him the love; even if he wasn’t the man that she remembered. Even if he was sure that the part of him that had loved her was dead now it didn’t mean that the love was gone. She let him see it all, as if no one else was in the room with them during the silence of the exchange of food.

“He will protect.” The priestess said once the feeding had ended.

The women lifted themselves from the floor, grabbed the platters and pretty much fled to one of the sides of the room, though she couldn’t see them well.  
In an instant Maseo was, once more, by their side, unbinding their hands with care before handing his sword to Oliver who stood from the cushion with his usual cat like grace. Coming to stand between the cushion where she was kneeling and the members of the league he pointed the tip of the sword at the floor and waited. It was ironic really, that he’d be facing away from Ra’s Al Ghul when she believed that he was the main threat towards her. 

The attack came in the form of two warriors from the front line of the group. Both of them had swords, just like Oliver, and soon the clank of metal on metal and the sound of men fighting was the soundtrack to her nuptials. Considering what she did every night as a 'hobby' and who she hung out with (Vigilantes R Us) she should have been surprised her life didn’t include more sword fights, to be completely honest. 

This was the part that the English speaking attendant had warned her about. It was necessary, so that the union could take place, for the heir to spill the blood of attackers in battle. It was never a set number of attackers and more could jump into the fray at any moment, which had Felicity on edge to say the least. Only being able to watch with the corner of her eye, unaided eye (no contacts or glasses allowed for the bride during the ceremony) he was a blur of black and skin tone against a sea of black coming at him from all directions. Moving, attacking, parrying, countering, forging ahead. The defense and offense dance came mixed with grunts of pain from the attackers and the heavy breathing of the man she loved.

But it was all in vain. Soon the men in black had fallen and Oliver stood still, sword once more pointing at the floor. He paused, she gathered it was to survey the room, before turning on his heel and heading towards the cushion where she waited still. The telltale whooshing sound of an arrow being released made her gasp lightly but with a twist of his body and an eerily controlled movement of the sword the arrow was deflected before it could pass him (she knew then that the arrow had been aimed at her and not him like the previous attacks) she guessed it embedded itself somewhere to his right but cared very little exactly where at the moment. The third assailant had come out of the group, dropping the bow on the floor they’d picked up the sword of a fallen member and faced off against Oliver.

That fight didn’t last long… Even with the unnerving detached control that the league had instilled in him she could see through the cracks that there was anger in his attacks now, it reminded her of the encounter with the Count for bittersweet moment.

The three bodies lying on the floor, dead or dying, made Felicity cringe inwardly. To them, dying like this was an honor! To her it was foolish. But she had to keep her head on straight. (Get through this… Just get through this…) When he finally reached her (no more interrupting attackers) he knelt before her facing her fully, with the sword lying between them and let her see him. He had a few cuts on him, a tiny shallow one on his left cheekbone, one on his left bicep and a third long one right below his pectoral muscles. 

“She will service.” 

Maseo was back then, with a bowl of water and a cloth, which Felicity took without having to be told. Once he had moved away she dipped the cloth into the bowl, wetting the fabric before wringing the excess and getting to work. Sure, getting him patched up in archaic central with just water wasn’t the best choice, but it was better than leaving his wounds (small as they might be, BOY had he done a number on those guys) unchecked. Her touch was gentle and her eyes focused on her work till their eyes met again once she was cleaning the wound on his face. He was gazing at her as if she was a puzzle, an interesting specimen that he hadn’t encountered before and she held his gaze without fear. She had seen him kill before, she didn’t know if he remembered that, and even though she thought it was stupid that it had come to this in this instance she wasn’t going to turn into a wilting flower because of it.

“By blood and bond now you are joined as one.” The priestess said simply, eyes like a hawk watching the couple. A harpy's gaze would've held more warmth.

“So they are.” Ra’s offered simply almost sounding resigned (with a hint of disdain thank you very much).

Oliver stood up then, holding his hand out to her which she took instantly. They stood tall before the head of the demon and for the first time since the ceremony had begun she was able to look at Ra’s Al Ghul without fear of immediate repercussions. Pulling a page from the departed Moira Queen’s book she stood by Oliver’s side as tall as her short frame would allow her, shoulders back, chin up, with as much poise and ‘regal’ flare as she could. Smoak’s patented spine of steel was now fully in effect! Because this was the man she had made a promise to weeks ago, she’d said she would go to war against to save Oliver Queen and now here she was, within his sacred walls and married/joined/whatever this was by his own standards to his heir. Oh, she knew that it irked him more than he’d ever let on, it was leader of the bad guys 101 text book attitude. She was a threat, she could feel it in her bones, but she wasn’t going to show him fear. Oh no.

She was a genius though so there’d be nothing to gain by forcing things to happen too quickly. No, she reminded herself to let time go by. For now she’d be a good girl, a good little wife and heir’s consort. And then when the time was right she’d use the extract of herbs that currently filled the hollowed out insides of the frames of her glasses, a special blend courtesy of STAR labs based on what Malcolm Merlyn had once used on Thea to influence her into killing Sara ‘the Canary’ Lance. And that would change everything.

Huh. Maybe she should have said she was a bitch with glasses instead of bitch with wifi… 

Ra's Al Ghul swept from the room at his leisure, since the ceremony was now truly done, his black cloak trailing behind him like he was a dark version of Liberace (with the multiple rings and all). The priestess following not far behind the man himself. Oliver squeezed her hand once more in signal and she followed his lead, turning the way he did in order to stand before the league as one unit. 

It took less then two seconds for every single member of the league and servants present in the main hall to kneel, dead bodies excused. And just as she had done when she stood up to face Ra's scrutiny after the ceremony was complete she kept up her facade now. No one could consider her even remotely weak if her plan was to work. No. Again she thought of Moira Queen and her always elegant icy demeanor, in her head she was the perfect choice to imitate and base an evil queen off of (no pun intended... ok, maybe a little pun intended). 

"You did well." He praised coldly while placing her hand in the crook of his elbow.

"You seem surprised." She replied, lowly enough so the words would be for his ears only.

"And if I was?" 

"If you were, husband, I would advice you to be ready for more surprises. " she whispered sweetly. "Your former self didn't believe me to be remarkable for nothing. And you still have a bit of a mark on your temple from when you underestimated me last time."

Her statement prompted a quirk of an eyebrow on his part for a mere second, an infliction of emotion on his new stoic self that she would've missed if she hadn't been observing him with the corner of her eye and it spurred the flame of hope within her like gasoline had been added to it. Felicity Smoak, she knew Oliver Queen; the man she loved, the man she believed in, was in there still, buried deep below conditioning torture and mind altering drugs. And if there were two things that could be said about him they were that he was stubborn and he was a survivor.

As she walked out of the room in the arm of her brand spanking new husband she knew deep in her soul that all she had to do was shine the light, her own personal brand of hope beacon, into the darkness, with a little help from the STAR labs 'brainwash be gone juice' and wait him out. 

There really was no choice to make.


End file.
